by E. L. James
“Don’t touch yourself. I want you frustrated. That’s what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what’s mine.” His eyes blaze anew, angry again.
I nod, panting. He stands and removes the condom, knotting it at the end, and puts it in his pants pocket. I gaze at him, my breathing still erratic, and involuntarily I squeeze my thighs together, trying to find some relief. Christian does up his fly and runs his hand through his hair as he reaches down to collect his jacket. He turns back to gaze down at me, his expression softer.
“We’d better get back to the house.”
I sit up, a little unsteadily, dazed.
“Here. You may put these on.”
From his inside pocket, he produces my panties. I don’t grin as I take them from him, but inside I know—I’ve taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face: You didn’t have to ask for them.
“Christian!” Mia shouts from the floor below.
He turns and raises his eyebrows at me. “Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating.”
I scowl back at him, hastily restore my panties to their rightful place, and stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state. Quickly, I attempt to smooth my just-fucked hair.
“Up here, Mia,” he calls down. “Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that—but I still want to spank you,” he says softly.
“I don’t believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.”
“Unprovoked? You kissed me.” He tries his best to look wounded.
I purse my lips. “It was attack as the best form of defense.”
“Defense against what?”
“You and your twitchy palm.”
He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs. “But it was tolerable?” he asks softly.
I flush. “Barely,” I whisper, but I can’t help my smirk.
“Oh, there you are.” She beams at us.
“I was showing Anastasia around.” Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense.
I put my hand into his, and he gives it a soft squeeze.
“Kate and Elliot are about to leave. Can you believe those two? They can’t keep their hands off each other.” Mia feigns disgust and looks from Christian to me. “What have you been doing in here?”
Jeez, she’s forward. I blush scarlet.
“Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies,” Christian says without missing a beat, completely poker-faced. “Let’s go say good-bye to Kate and Elliot.”
Rowing trophies? He pulls me gently in front of him, and as Mia turns to go, he swats my behind. I gasp in surprise.
“I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon,” he threatens quietly close to my ear, then he pulls me into an embrace, my back to his front, and kisses my hair.
BACK IN THE HOUSE, Kate and Elliot are making their farewells to Grace and Mr. Grey. Kate hugs me hard.
“I need to speak to you about antagonizing Christian,” I hiss quietly in her ear as she embraces me.
“He needs antagonizing; then you can see what he’s really like. Be careful, Ana—he’s so controlling,” she whispers. “See you later.”
I KNOW WHAT HE’S REALLY LIKE—YOU DON’T! I scream at her in my head. I’m fully aware that her actions come from a good place, but sometimes she just oversteps boundaries, and right now she’s so far over that she’s in the neighboring state. I scowl at her, and she pokes her tongue out at me, making me smile unwillingly. Playful Kate is novel; must be Elliot’s influence. We wave them off at the doorway, and Christian turns to me.
“We should go, too—you have interviews tomorrow.”
Mia embraces me warmly as we say our good-byes.
“We never thought he’d find anyone!” she gushes.
I flush, and Christian rolls his eyes again. I purse my lips. Why can he do that when I can’t? I want to roll my eyes back at him, but I do not dare, not after his threat in the boathouse.
“Take care of yourself, Ana dear,” Grace says kindly.
Christian, embarrassed or frustrated by the lavish attention I’m receiving from the remaining Greys, grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.
“Let’s not frighten her away or spoil her with too much affection,” he grumbles.
“Christian, stop teasing,” Grace scolds him indulgently, her eyes glowing with love and affection for him.
Somehow, I don’t think he’s teasing. I surreptitiously watch their interaction. It’s obvious Grace adores him with a mother’s unconditional love. He bends and kisses her stiffly.
“Mom,” he says, and there’s an undercurrent in his voice—reverence maybe?
“Mr. Grey—good-bye and thank you.” I hold out my hand to him, and he hugs me, too!
“Please, call me Carrick. I do hope we see you again very soon, Ana.”
Our farewells said, Christian leads me to the car, where Taylor is waiting. Has he been waiting here the whole time? Taylor opens my door, and I slide into the back of the Audi.
I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Jeez, what a day. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. After a brief conversation with Taylor, Christian clambers into the car beside me. He turns to face me.
“Well, it seems my family likes you, too,” he murmurs.
Too? The depressing thought about how I came to be invited pops unbidden and very unwelcome into my head. Taylor starts the car and heads away from the circle of light in the driveway to the darkness of the road. I gaze at Christian, and he’s staring at me.
“What?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I flounder momentarily. No—I’ll tell him. He’s always complaining that I don’t talk to him.
“I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents.” My voice is soft and hesitant. “If Elliot hadn’t asked Kate, you’d never have asked me.” I can’t see his face in the dark, but he tilts his head, gaping at me.
“Anastasia, I’m delighted that you’ve met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You’re such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn’t wanted you to meet them, you wouldn’t be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?”
Oh! He wanted me there—and it’s a revelation. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable answering me as he would if he were hiding the truth. He seems genuinely pleased that I’m here … a warm glow spreads slowly through my veins. He shakes his head and reaches for my hand. I glance nervously at Taylor.
“Don’t worry about Taylor. Talk to me.”
I shrug.
“Yes. I thought that. And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Kate was talking about Barbados. I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Do you want to go and see your mother?”
“Yes.”
He looks oddly at me, like he’s having some internal struggle.
“Can I come with you?” he asks eventually.
What!
“Erm … I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I was hoping for a break from all this … intensity to try to think things through.”
He stares at me.
“I’m too intense?”
I burst out laughing. “That’s putting it mildly!”
In the light of the passing street lamps, I see his lips quirk up.
“Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?”
“I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Grey,” I reply with mock seriousness.
“I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently.”
“You are quite funny.”
“Funny?”
“Oh yes.”
“Funny peculiar or funny ha-ha?”
“Oh … a lot of one and some of the other.”
“Which way more?”
“I’ll lea
ve you to figure that out.”
“I’m not sure if I can figure anything out around you, Anastasia,” he says sardonically, and then continues quietly, “What do you need to think about in Georgia?”
“Us,” I whisper.
He stares at me, impassive.
“You said you’d try,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“Possibly.”
He shifts as if uncomfortable.
“Why?”
Holy crap. How did this suddenly become such an intense and meaningful conversation? It’s been sprung on me, like an exam that I’m not prepared for. What do I say? Because I think I love you, and you just see me as a toy. Because I can’t touch you, because I’m too frightened to show you any affection in case you flinch or tell me off or worse—beat me? What can I say?
I stare momentarily out of the window. The car is heading back across the bridge. We are both shrouded in darkness, masking our thoughts and feelings, but we don’t need the night for that.
“Why, Anastasia?” Christian presses me for an answer.
I shrug, trapped. I don’t want to lose him. In spite of all his demands, his need to control, his scary vices, I have never felt as alive as I do now. It’s a thrill to be sitting here beside him. He’s so unpredictable, sexy, smart, and funny. But his moods … oh—and he wants to hurt me. He says he’ll think about my reservations, but it still scares me. I close my eyes. What can I say? Deep down I would just like more, more affection, more playful Christian, more … love.
He squeezes my hand.
“Talk to me, Anastasia. I don’t want to lose you. This last week …”
We’re coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so his face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it’s such a fitting metaphor. This man, whom I once thought of as a romantic hero, a brave shining white knight—or the dark knight, as he said. He’s not a hero; he’s a man with serious, deep emotional flaws, and he’s dragging me into the dark. Can I not guide him into the light?
“I still want more,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “I’ll try.”
I blink up at him, and he relinquishes my hand and pulls at my chin, releasing my trapped lip.
“For you, Anastasia, I will try.” He’s radiating sincerity.
And that’s my cue. I unbuckle my seatbelt, reach across, and clamber into his lap, taking him completely by surprise. Wrapping my arms around his head, I kiss him, long and hard, and in a nanosecond, he’s responding.
“Stay with me, tonight,” he breathes. “If you go away, I won’t see you all week. Please.”
“Yes,” I acquiesce. “And I’ll try, too. I’ll sign your contract.” And it’s a spur-of-the-moment decision.
He gazes down at me.
“Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard, baby.”
“I will.” And we sit in silence for a mile or two.
“You really should wear your seat belt,” Christian whispers disapprovingly into my hair, but he makes no move to shift me from his lap.
I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed, my nose at his throat, drinking in his sexy Christian-and-spiced-musky-bodywash fragrance, my head on his shoulder. I let my mind drift, and I allow myself to fantasize that he loves me. Oh, and it’s so real, tangible almost, and a small part of my nasty harpy subconscious acts completely out of character and dares to hope. I’m careful not to touch his chest but just snuggle in his arms as he holds me tightly.
All too soon, I’m torn from my impossible daydream.
“We’re home,” Christian murmurs, and it’s such a tantalizing sentence, full of so much potential.
Home, with Christian. Except his apartment is an art gallery, not a home.
Taylor opens the door for us, and I thank him shyly, aware that he’s been within earshot of our conversation, but his kind smile is reassuring and gives nothing away. Once out of the car, Christian assesses me critically. Oh no … what have I done now?
“Why don’t you have a jacket?” he frowns as he shrugs out of his and drapes it over my shoulders.
Relief washes through me.
“It’s in my new car,” I reply sleepily, yawning.
He smirks at me.
“Tired, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.” I feel bashful under his teasing scrutiny. Nevertheless I feel an explanation is in order. “I’ve been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today.”
“Well, if you’re really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more,” he promises as he takes my hand and leads me into the building. Holy shit … Again!
I gaze up at him in the elevator. I have assumed he’d like me to sleep with him, and then I remember that he doesn’t sleep with anyone, although he has with me a few times. I frown, and abruptly his gaze darkens. He reaches up and grasps my chin, freeing my lip from teeth.
“One day I will fuck you in this elevator, Anastasia, but right now you’re tired—so I think we should stick to a bed.”
Bending down, he clamps his teeth around my lower lip and pulls gently. I melt against him, and my breathing stops as my insides unfurl with longing. I reciprocate, fastening my teeth over his top lip, teasing him, and he groans. When the elevator doors open, he grabs my hand and tugs me into the foyer, through the double doors, and into the hallway.
“Do you need a drink or anything?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s go to bed.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re going to settle for plain old vanilla?”
He cocks his head to one side. “Nothing plain or old about vanilla—it’s a very intriguing flavor,” he breathes.
“Since when?”
“Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”
My inner goddess pops her head above the parapet.
“Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.” My inner goddess pouts at me, failing miserably to hide her disappointment.
“Sure? We cater for all tastes here—at least thirty-one flavors.” He grins at me lasciviously.
“I’ve noticed,” I reply dryly.
He shakes his head. “Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.”
“Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic.”
“Miss Steele, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come.” He leads me down the hallway into his bedroom and kicks the door closed.
“Hands in the air,” he commands.
I oblige, and in one breathtakingly swift move he removes my dress like a magician, grasping it at the hem and pulling it smoothly and fleetly over my head.
“Ta-da!” he says playfully.
I giggle and applaud politely. He bows gracefully, grinning. How can I resist him when he’s like this? He places my dress on the lone chair beside his chest of drawers.
“And for your next trick?” I prompt, teasing.
“Oh, my dear Miss Steele. Get into my bed,” he growls, “and I’ll show you.”
“Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?” I ask coquettishly.
His eyes widen with surprise, and I see a glimmer of excitement. “Well … the door’s closed. Not sure how you’re going to avoid me,” he says sardonically. “I think it’s a done deal.”
“But I’m a good negotiator.”
“So am I.” He stares down at me, but as he does, his expression changes, confusion washes over him and the atmosphere in the room shifts abruptly, tensing. “Don’t you want to fuck?” he asks.
“No,” I breathe.
“Oh.” He frowns.
Okay, here goes … deep breath.
“I want you to make love to me.”
He stills and stares at me blankly. His expression darkens. Oh, shit, this doesn’t look good. Give him a minute! My subconscious sna
ps.
“Ana, I …” He runs his hands through his hair. Two hands. Jeez, he’s really bewildered. “I thought we did?” he says eventually.
“I want to touch you.”
He takes an involuntary step back from me, his expression for a moment fearful, and then he reins it in.
“Please,” I whisper.
He recovers himself. “Oh no, Miss Steele, you’ve had enough concessions from me this evening. And I’m saying no.”
“No?”
“No.”
Oh … I can’t argue with that … can I?
“Look, you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed,” he says, watching me carefully.
“So touching is a hard limit for you?”
“Yes. This is old news.”
“Please tell me why.”
“Oh, Anastasia, please. Just drop it for now,” he mutters exasperated.
“It’s important to me.”
Again he runs both hands through his hair, and he utters an oath beneath his breath. Turning on his heel, he heads for the chest of drawers, pulls out a T-shirt, and throws it at me. I catch it, bemused.
“Put that on and get into bed,” he snaps, irritated.
I frown but decide to humor him. Turning my back, I quickly remove my bra, pulling the T-shirt on as hastily as I can to cover my nakedness. I leave my panties on; I haven’t worn them for most of the evening.
“I need the bathroom.” My voice is a whisper.